Stephen Penner - Presumption of Innocence

Welles stared at Brunelle for a moment. "Very well, Brunelle. Those documents better not be even one minute late tomorrow morning."

"Don't worry, Billy. They'll be on time. I think you'll find them very enlightening."

In truth, though, Brunelle knew he'd find them reassuring. The vampire claim was almost as thin as the torture. It was going to be a battle to keep the case aggravated.

***

"Vampires?" Yamata finally asked as they walked into the attorney area between the courtroom and the hallway. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Whatever I can to keep this case capital," Brunelle replied. "You heard Chen. This guy is a wanna-be vampire."

Yamata shook her pretty head. "Maybe, but you've got no proof."

Brunelle shrugged. "Well then, we better call Chen when we get upstairs, and hope he's got something to back us up."

***

Getting upstairs proved easier said than done. When they opened the door to the hallway, they were met with the blinding glare of a half-dozen television cameras.

"Mr. Brunelle! Mr. Brunelle! Do you really think Karpati is a vampire?"

Brunelle squinted against the lights. "I really can't comment on pending cases. You guys know that."

"Come on, Dave," one of the reporters he'd come to know over the years tried, "you can't allege somebody's a vampire and then not give us a quote. You know this is gonna lead tonight."

Brunelle sighed. He did know that. And although he hated getting interviewed by the media, his boss didn't. And his boss had taught him two things: always have a quote ready, and never say anything that isn't already in a document filed with the court-that way anything you say is already out there anyway.

"The State is not alleging that Mr. Karpati is a vampire," he explained, "but we believe the evidence will show that he wanted others to believe he was and that he committed this murder in part to advance such a belief."

He knew that wouldn't satisfy them.

"Is that it, Dave?" asked the same reporter. "Can't you at least call him the 'Vampire Murderer' or something?"

"Sorry, Keith," Brunelle. "Just the facts." Then he spotted the door to the attorneys' area opening again. "But I believe Mr. Welles is about to come out. I'm sure he has much more he'd like to say."

The paparazzi sprinted toward the defense attorney as he emerged into the hallway.

"What do you think about your client being labeled the Vampire Murderer?"

Welles wound up for his undoubtedly eloquent and long-winded response. Brunelle didn't stick around to hear it. He had some getting-yelled-at to attend to.

***

"What the fuck were you thinking, Dave?" Duncan shook his head from across his desk. "Seriously, I thought we talked about this."

Brunelle had gone straight to Duncan's office for his whipping. He'd insisted Yamata come along, but only so he could make sure Duncan knew she'd had nothing to do with it.

"Maybe I should go?" she tried.

"No, Michelle," Duncan raised his hand. "Stay. You need to hear this too. Dave's dragged you into this mess, but I'm not gonna let him drag you under."

He turned his attention back to Brunelle. "You should have gotten my okay on this first, Dave, but we'll talk about that later. Right now, my phone is ringing off the hook. They're calling it the 'Vampire Murderer Case.' So I've got one question for you, and one question only: can you make it stick?"

Brunelle took a deep breath. He knew what he had to answer, but he'd made a career of being honest. He wasn't sure what the honest answer was, but he knew the right one. "Yes, Matt. I can make it stick. Judge Quinn won't dismiss this aggravator."

Duncan nodded. "Good. Because if she does, you're off the case."

Brunelle looked up almost as sharply as Yamata.

"And Michelle," Duncan went on, "you'll be lead. So be ready."

"Y- Yes, sir," she stammered. "Thank you, sir."

Then she glanced over at Brunelle. "Although I'm sure it won't be necessary," she said. "Mr. Brunelle, er, Dave, knows what he's doing."

Brunelle managed a smile. "Thanks," he said, even though they all knew she was lying.

Chen's reports sucked.

To begin with, they didn't even come through the fax machine until almost five o'clock. More importantly, they consisted of little more than his interview with Brunelle about the assault. There was a paragraph about the general police knowledge of the No Bloods, but nothing specific. He'd sent an officer to round some up and interview them, but the officer "met with little success." There wasn't a single name of a single No Blood gang member mentioned anywhere in the report.

So Brunelle, after reading and rereading and rereading again all of the reports, was sure of two things.

First, what he had was never going to be sufficient to survive Judge Quinn. And therefore second, he was going to have to come up with something solid before nine o'clock the next morning.

He touched his still tender eye with a wince

"The things Lady Justice demands," he joked as he stood and took his coat from the back of the door. "At least she can buy me a drink first."

Brunelle waited in the dark of the landing to Faust's apartment building. It was quarter past two. He'd had a bit to drink, but not too much. He needed to think straight. That would be hard enough sober. As if he weren't already sure of that, his heart quickened as he heard her boots tick-tack up the sidewalk toward him.

"Hello, Faust," he said from the shadows as she stepped onto the landing.

The brunette spun to face him, fear in her eyes for a moment-until she recognized him.

"Oh fuck," she exhaled. "It's just you. What are you doing here?"

"Just me? I'm hurt," Brunelle teased. "I'm also desperate. I need your help."

Faust slid her key into the lock. "A lot of men are desperate for me."

Brunelle tried to grin nonchalantly. "I'm desperate for information," he assured.

She pushed open the door and smile sideways at him. "Is that all? Well, you can come upstairs anyway."

***

Faust's apartment was small, but classy, just as Brunelle had expected. To the left was a small kitchen immediately off the front door, with a living room and balcony beyond. To the right was the door to the one bathroom, and the short hallway to her bedroom. He couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the mirror opposite the bed.

"You want something to drink?" Faust asked as she latched the door behind them.

Brunelle was already in the living room, checking out the view from the balcony. It wasn't much, just the parking lot out back. "No, thanks. Er, sure. Well, I don't know."

"Awful late, huh, old man?" Faust teased. "Ready for bed?"

He turned around and met her warm gaze. "No," he insisted, despite the fatigue across his back. "Just want to get down to business."

Faust stepped into the living room and handed him a drinking glass of whiskey. "Mm, Mr. Brunelle, I like your style."

He felt his face flush. He tried to ignore it. "I mean my case. The information. I need your help."

Faust offered an intoxicating pout, then dropped onto her couch, crossing her strong-looking legs. "What information do you need, sir? I can't promise I'll give it to you."

Brunelle scanned the room. He skipped the arm chair and sat next to her on the couch. "Those guys who beat me up," he started.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she interrupted. She reached out and touched the bruise still half-visible on his cheek. "I shouldn't have left you there alone."

He smiled at her touch. "No, it's all right," he assured. "You were right to get someplace safe. But I need to know a couple things about them. My detective says they're part of some gang that pretends they're vampires."